Dr. Jamal Eltaeb of Sudan has been awarded the $1 million Aurora Prize for Awakening Humanity for his medical work amid his country’s brutal civil war. The prize honors people who risk their lives to save others; the committee praised Eltaeb’s “extraordinary courage and steadfast dedication to providing care for those trapped in conflict.”
An orthopedic surgeon and director of Al Nao Hospital in Omdurman, Eltaeb has continued to work in one of the few hospitals still operating around Khartoum since civil war erupted in 2023, pitting a paramilitary group against government forces. The United Nations has called the conflict the world’s most devastating humanitarian crisis. More than 150,000 people have been reported killed and over 12 million displaced.
“It was my duty to my country and to my people,” Eltaeb says. “People need somebody to stay there for them.”
In an interview with NPR, Eltaeb described practicing medicine with dwindling supplies and constant danger. The conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
What is it like to treat patients during this time of war?
Providing care with almost nothing is one of the hardest things a person can do. Every day we work in impossible conditions with barely enough to keep people alive. We run out of medicines, supplies, clean water and electricity — sometimes even the simplest medical tools. We learn to improvise, to stay calm in chaos and to make something out of nothing. Sometimes a single bandage, a few tablets or simply holding a patient’s hand and talking to them is all we have to offer. But those acts mean a great deal both to patients and to us.
What is the work environment like for you and other health workers in the midst of conflict?
They are heroes who stand beside us. They come to the hospital knowing their lives are on the line. The air is filled with fear, and yet they remain. They provide care because they know that if they do not, more people will die.
What do you want people to understand about what’s happening in Sudan?
The situation remains devastating, but what hurts most is the silence. Some media outlets have reported on Sudan, but it is not enough. We need more attention, more coverage, more outreach. The world must know this country is still bleeding. This war is not like many other conflicts; here, civilians are the target. Entire communities are being wiped out and families are being displaced. People are being killed simply because of who they are. If people could see what we see every day — the cries that echo through the night — silence would no longer be an option and the world would have to act.
What kind of violence are you witnessing?
The level of violence is unimaginable and truly traumatizing. The number of children and women who have been tortured, traumatized or left in shock is impossible to count. What is happening now in places such as El Fasher, with the same brutality, is not just a conflict; it feels like genocide.
Are death estimates accurate?
The true toll is likely far higher. Entire towns have been emptied, families torn apart and generations destroyed.
What does winning this prize mean to you?
It is a symbol of hope. It tells people they are not alone and not forgotten.
What keeps you going?
There are days when the suffering feels too heavy to carry and you wonder if what you are doing will ever be enough. But then you see a wounded patient begin to heal, or hear a child draw a breath, and you feel an internal strength to continue. In the heart of destruction, surrounded by loss, I still see strength that cannot be fully described: mothers who have lost everything sharing a piece of bread with a stranger; children smiling through hunger and pain; doctors, nurses and volunteers working through exhaustion and fear with only their hearts and courage.
The Sudanese people have taught us that hope is not something we wait for — it is something we build with our hands, even in the darkest times. Every act of care, every continued heartbeat, is an act of defiance. It says to the world: we are still here, our lives matter, and as long as one child or one mother remains, I will keep serving. This is not just about survival; it is about dignity, humanity and hope that refuses to die.